Damage Me to Feed Your Senses
by Vita Fidens
Summary: Sequel to "It Won't Stop; I Have No Control." Liz Moore is moving forward with her deal with Paul Heyman and crew. But there's one piece that's not fitting quite right - Dean Ambrose. M: Sex, violence, language.
1. Chapter 1

'I find myself in a sour disposition this morning.'

I stared at the text message, not totally comprehending what it was that Ambrose wanted me to grasp.

It was 6:30 in the morning, and I'd only gotten to sleep a few hours earlier. I was sleeping soundly for the first time in a long time, until my phone had chirped at me. I must've forgotten to turn it on silent before I crawled into bed.

Reading the message through bleary eyes, I elected to simply ignore it and go back to sleep. Whatever that asshole wanted could wait until I was vertical for the day.

Just as I was dropping off again, the phone started ringing. Fucking hell. How could I not have put it on silent this time? Oh right, I was fucking sleeping.

I rolled back over and picked up the phone. Ambrose, of course. I knew this would just continue on if I ignored him, so I decided to end it as quickly as possible.

"What, Ambrose?"

"Did I wake you?"

"The fuck do you think?" I snapped.

He laughed. "Good. I like it best when you're in a pissy mood."

"What the fuck do you want? Make it fast," I replied, yawning.

"I'd _like_ to be there in bed with you, sweetheart."

"Gross. Bee-Arr-Bee, need to go yack. Call me back in five, unless you want to have a bonding experience – then I can bring the phone in with me."

I heard laughter that wasn't Ambrose's – it sounded genuine. "Who else is there? What's going on?"

"You're hilarious when you're half-asleep, angry, and confused," one of the other voices came on. I recognized this one nearly-immediately.

"Roman Reigns, you son-of-a-bitch," I replied, but with a bit more of a good nature. "And I'm guessing the doofus laughing like a hyena about my puke joke in the back is Mr. Seth Rollins. Hello boys. What the fuck are you doing calling me this early?"

"We just wanted to hear your sweet, charming voice this morning."

"Fuck off. What do you really want?"

"Seth and I wanted to welcome you to the crew. Dean mentioned he talked to you last night."

"So this had to happen at 6:30 this morning?"

"It didn't _have_ to," Seth spoke up. "We just really _wanted_ it to. Can you send us a picture of how dopey you look right now?"

I tried to hold back laughter and mostly failed. "I hate you fucking guys so much."

"But we LOOOOOVE _you_, Lizzy!" Roman replied, his voice going up a few octaves on the word love. I shook my head, a smile finding its way onto my face.

"You fuckfaces get on the road. I am going back to bed."

"Don't forget my picture message!" Seth called from the backseat.

"Oh, I won't," I replied, already knowing that it was going to be a picture of my extended middle finger.

"Liz, don't hang up," Ambrose said. "I'm going to pull you off speaker for a few minutes."

I rolled my eyes, but before I could agree or protest, the sounds of the car went silent.

"Hey," he said, his voice sounding a lot closer and less tinny than it had on the car's speaker.

"What?"

He was quiet for a few minutes, and I heard the sounds of car doors slamming. "I had to send the guys ahead," he explained. "I'm very…dissatisfied right now, Elizabeth."

"Not my problem, Ambrose."

"See, that's where you're wrong. It _is_ your problem, because it's your fault."

I raised an eyebrow. "I'm listening. Stop being vague and just spit it the fuck out."

"I haven't been able to come since you left," he said bluntly. "Doesn't matter who I bring home or what I do to them. I am pent-up as fuck and I'm tired of it. I can't fucking sleep at night because I can't come."

I couldn't help it. I started laughing. "So that's what your little bullshit last night was about. You wanted to try to get off."

"This isn't funny to me, Lizzy. It's not funny at all. You think I'm an asshole when I'm _not _walking around unable to think straight because my balls are full up. Just imagine how much worse I'm going to be now."

"Like I said, Ambrose – not my problem. And not my fault, either. You're just going to have to figure something out."

He was quiet for a few moments. "How would you feel about a little…arrangement?"

"The arrangement being that I fuck you regularly so you're less of a dick to me? Mmm… no thanks. The thought of you unable to get it up or get off is incredibly amusing to me, and it's worth a little extra hostility to know that I'm keeping you that way."

"I swear to fucking God," he muttered. "I thought you'd have a little bit of pity on me. Here I am, admitting that I need you, and you shoot me down without a second thought."

"You'll never have my pity, Ambrose. You did things to me that I will never, ever forget. I don't have to do jack shit for you, and quite frankly I don't _want_ to do jack shit for you."

"Unless it's make me suffer," he said, the quality of his voice changing.

I almost agreed. Thankfully, this conversation had snapped me completely awake, and I could tell almost immediately what he wanted. "Oh _hell_ no, we're not going there. I'm not going to give you _anything_ to go on."

He let out a frustrated yell, and I could hear him pounding on something. "Come _on_, Liz! Just tell me you hate me. Something. Anything. Please."

"You're not a half-bad guy, Dean," I replied instead, smiling widely. "And while I'm so sorry for your troubles, it's time for me to go back to bed."

"Don't you do it, Lizzy. Don't you dare hang –"

He was cut off by the end call button. I immediately pulled the battery from the phone and slid back under the covers, beaming.

It was nice to get a small measure of revenge.

I slept like a baby.


	2. Chapter 2

Heyman had told me early on to keep running Smackdown the way I saw fit until we could have our meeting. Even after, he mentioned that I'd probably have free reign until his plan – whatever that may be – went into effect.

I was fine with that.

Running Smackdown was a lot less stressful than Raw had been. We had the benefit of taping instead of being live, which eliminated a lot of the anxiety. At the end of the day, things could be edited out. I wished I'd had that option before. My current situation might be much different.

The only issue that I could see for the night was ducking Sheamus, who was suddenly all-too-casually hanging out wherever I happened to be. It was Ambrose lite, and it was annoying me immensely. But I had to be nice – even if it hadn't been entirely his doing, he was the guy who had saved my skin.

I tried to remind myself of that as he walked by the production room yet again while I was checking camera angles.

Finally, I couldn't put it off any longer and I absolutely had to be elsewhere.

"Hey, Sheamus," I said, grinning in what I hoped was a friendly way and trying to walk past him quickly.

"Hey Liz, do you have a minute?" He asked.

I glanced down at my watch. "Uh…" I gave him a look that I hoped said I really _wanted_ to have a minute, but I sure as heck didn't.

"I'll be quick. I'm really sorry about the other night."

I shrugged, attempting to not think about what had happened and how he had finally given me that little push over the edge. "Like I said, Sheamus – not a big deal, let's just make sure it doesn't happen again."

I gave him what I hoped was a sincere smile and turned around, walking in the opposite direction.

"I want it to happen again," he called after me. I stopped short, a headache beginning to pound behind my eyes. Turning back around, I raised my eyebrows at him.

"You know that's not feasible right now. Let's just stop this, ok?" I practically pleaded, shaking my head. "I like being on good terms with you. So please, stop before that's no longer possible."

He laughed. "You _owe_ me, Liz. You know better than anyone what I saved you from. And you won't have one lousy drink with me? What kind of a cold-hearted bitch are you?"

My mouth dropped open. It took me a few moments to get my bearings. In that time, he slowly moved closer to me.

"Come on, Lizzy," he said gently. "One drink. That's it."

I snapped my mouth shut, feeling my eyes fill with tears. I wasn't upset that he'd called me a bitch – I'd heard that far too many times to let it bother me – but I was incredibly angry with his presumptions and his entitled attitude.

"No, Sheamus. You know, I might have considered it before the bile that just spewed out of your mouth. You shouldn't ever talk to someone you want to date like that, you fucking idiot."

"It worked for Ambrose, I thought it might work for me," he snapped back. I recoiled as if I'd been slapped.

"It didn't work for Ambrose," I hissed after a moment. "I am here. Ambrose is not. I hate that motherfucker more than anything, although you are _very_ quickly gaining ground on him. Get out of my sight before I do something I regret."

He had the good sense to look ashamed. He had the further good sense to keep his mouth shut and walk away.

I had the good sense to go find a wall to punch before I dealt with anyone else.


	3. Chapter 3

I was cradling my bleeding, bruised fist and trying not to make it too obvious. A difficult task when you're running a production.

Sheamus went out for his match – a main event bout against Randy Orton I'd placed him in before his bullshit earlier tonight – and I found myself clenching my fists involuntarily. Where did that son-of-a-bitch get off talking to me the way he had? I suddenly wished I'd made it a cage match. I was tempted to go out and make the change, but I knew that we'd have to take the extra time to assemble the cage. Besides, then Sheamus would know that he'd gotten to me. Badly.

I didn't want that. I wanted to try to appear as stable and steady as I possibly could. I glanced down at my hand – so far, I wasn't doing as well as I'd hoped.

Taped show or not, Smackdown was proving to have its own unique set of challenges.

The match was a decent one, as I knew it would be. I was pleased every time Orton hit Sheamus – a chilling reminder of another time I'd cheered for Orton beating the shit out of a man who didn't understand the word 'no' when it came out of my mouth.

I tried to put that out of my head. Ambrose wasn't Sheamus, and Sheamus – while a block-headed asshole – was no Dean Ambrose.

Finally, Sheamus hit a brogue kick to end the match. I was a little disappointed, but took it with good grace. It had been a great match, and the Irish bastard had fought hard. He deserved the win.

"All right, everybody," I said as the cameras focused in on Sheamus celebrating with his usual chest-pounding war cry, "great show. Thanks for all your hard work toni-"

I stopped dead as the cameras panned out and Ambrose stepped in the ring behind Sheamus, clapping slowly. The cameras began searching the crowd for Reigns and Rollins, but they were nowhere to be found.

"What the fuck is _he_ doing here?" I asked, throwing the headset off and making my way towards the ring.

"You took something from me that I earned," Ambrose was saying, mic in hand so the world could hear, as I made my way down the ramp. "You took the one thing in my life that mattered to me, and you broke whatever was left of my battered heart. So for that, I'm going to break _your _heart – and several of your bones."

Sheamus started towards him, and Ambrose backed off, hands up. "Easy now. I didn't mean tonight."

"Why not?" Sheamus huffed, bright red and sweating. "Are you a coward?"

Ambrose grinned, his eyes gleaming with a sick fervor. "You know that I'm not. But I want you fresh. I want you healthy. I want you to know weeks in advance that I'm coming for you. I want you to know fear when I systematically dismantle your body."

I'd finally made my way into the ring and stepped directly in between the two of them, placing a hand on each man's chest.

"No," I said simply, temporarily forgetting my earlier thought that neither of these men would accept hearing that from me. "We're not doing this tonight. Sheamus, locker room. Ambrose, get the fuck out of here. This isn't your show and you're not supposed to be here."

Ambrose very lightly touched my hand, tracing over my fingers with his own. Then, without saying another word, he stepped out of the ring. He slowly made his way back up the entrance ramp, staring at Sheamus and I until he disappeared into the back.

"Looks like you're boyfriend's back," Sheamus said, resting a hand on my shoulder. "How do you feel about that drink now?"

I shot him a dirty look, shaking my head as I stepped away from him. He regarded me coolly for a few moments before he stepped out of the ring and made his way backstage as well.

It took me a solid fifteen seconds to realize that they were headed in the same direction. That wasn't a good thing.


	4. Chapter 4

Several refs and a few of the boys were trying to pull them apart when I ran back.

"Break it up!" I yelled, doing my best to step in the middle again.

Ambrose had a smear of blood on his chin, and when he smiled I could see that his mouth was filled with blood, his teeth starkly white against the bright red.

"I'll make you wish you were never born," he said to Sheamus, still smiling.

"Ambrose! Enough! Get the fuck out of here. Now."

He reached out and gently touched my face. I slapped his hand away, feeling my blood boiling even more. "You're still so very pretty when you're angry, Lizzy," he said softly.

I had a sudden sneaking suspicion as to why he'd shown up – it was the one thing that would piss me off blindly enough to give him what he wanted from me.

I nodded, feeling my jaw clench. "Get out," I growled. "I'm going to talk to Heyman about this. I'm going to make sure your ass gets suspended, and if you _ever_ pull something like this again, you're going to get fired. Do I make myself clear?"

"Crystal, sweetheart," he replied, grinning. He blew me a kiss before turning to walk away.

"All right, everyone. We're done for the night. Thanks for all your hard work." I made a beeline for my office and shut the door behind me, rubbing my eyes tiredly.

After a few minutes of trying to get my bearings, I elected to call Heyman.

"Liz," he greeted me cautiously, "to what do I owe the pleasure?"

"Did you send Ambrose here tonight for some reason?"

"No," he replied immediately. "He showed up?"

"He certainly did. Went right into the ring with Sheamus and spewed some bullshit about how he's going to hurt him because he 'took the one thing in his life that mattered and broke his heart.' I am not impressed, Paul. Not impressed in the least."

Heyman sighed. "You have my sincere apologies. I told Dean to stay away from you. We don't need any…attention on any possible connection we all might have. I'm very displeased with this development, and I will deal with it immediately."

"I want him suspended, Paul. And if he tries to pull this again, I want him fired."

"Let's not be too hasty, all right? I agree with the suspension for now. And I'll impress upon him the severity of his…lack of judgment."

I took a deep breath. It was the best I could hope for. "Thank you. I appreciate you taking the steps to rectify this situation."

"Of course, Liz. We're a team now. We can work towards any resolution."

I rolled my shoulders uncomfortably at those words, hearing cracks in my upper back.

"Why don't we discuss this more in detail on Thursday when we meet? It sounds as if it's been a long night for you."

"That would be preferable," I admitted. "Thank you for taking my call."

"My pleasure. Thank you for informing me of the situation. It will be rectified."

We said our goodbyes and hung it. It might have been the most civil conversation I'd ever had with Heyman. I wasn't sure if I should count that as a victory or not.

I waited until the locker room had basically cleared. I was in no mood to deal with anyone else's problems tonight. I knew that made me a terrible boss, but in that moment I didn't care. First Sheamus had crossed a line, and then Ambrose had shown up to smear his special brand of crazy all over my show. I was in a foul mood as a result.

I drove back to the hotel, looking forward to nothing more than a shower and some sleep.

It wasn't meant to be.

The minute I stepped in the lobby, I could see Ambrose in the hotel bar. He was sitting in a booth, a drink in front of him and a drink in front of the empty seat across from him. As I watched, he raised his hand and gestured me over.


	5. Chapter 5

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" I asked by way of greeting. "Do you realize the kind of shit you could get us all in?"

He stared at me for a moment before simply nodding at the seat across from him. "You could use a drink. Sit down."

I grabbed the glass and chugged it where I stood. "I don't need to sit here and speak with you, Ambrose. What you did tonight showed a serious lack of judgment, and it could get all of us in trouble. You need to keep your head."

"Paul already gave me this lecture. He also sent me home for two weeks."

"Well I'm giving it to you, too. Don't fuck this up for everyone. Put aside whatever stupid notions you have about you and I, because it's not going to happen. I'm not going to sleep with you. I'll tolerate you for everyone else's sake, but I do _not_ like you. Don't you ever think that's going to change."

"I wouldn't have it any other way," he said slowly.

I rolled my eyes. "Clearly, I'm not going to get through to you in any significant way. Just know if you ever pull something like that again, I will kick your ass from here to kingdom come. I swear it to God above."

I turned and began to walk away.

"That Irishman…he rather fancies you, doesn't he?"

I stopped and looked back at him. He studied me over the rim of his glass as he took a sip of his own drink.

"First, he saves you from me backstage when we were sharing that nice, intimate moment of me wrapping my hand around your throat for the first time. Then he fights me for your freedom and secures it, taking one hell of a beating in the process. Finally, he plants one on you backstage at Smackdown last week, and even though you say no he doesn't get the hint and pesters you for a date. He's persistent, don't you think?"

I closed my eyes. "Have you been following me?"

"I have a vested interest in your life, Elizabeth," was his non-committal reply.

"What the fuck is your deal?"

"I told you already," he said quietly, standing up and finishing his drink. "We'd be something special. I still believe that. I don't need you to love me. I don't need to love you. But you and I…we could bring the world to its knees and make it beg for mercy." He reached out and lightly stroked my hair. "And more than anything, I want to watch the world burn."

"What a fantastic life goal," I snapped, wrenching away from his touch. "I wish you the absolute best in finding some other psychopath to assist you with that. It's not going to be me."

He grinned. "That's what you think."

He leaned forward and kissed me before I could move. "Let's take this upstairs," he murmured in my ear as he pulled away from me. He began lightly running his fingers over my breast. "You had a tough day," he continued, his voice displaying some approximation of sympathy. He'd gotten good at mimicking those kinds of emotions. "Let me help you relax at least three times."

His other hand brought my chin back up to his mouth and he kissed me roughly, his teeth nipping my lower lip. As he pulled me closer, I could feel that he was turned on. Without conscious thought, I brought my knee up and slammed it into his balls.

He bit down on my lip, hard, and I could taste blood in my mouth a split second after he pulled away, cradling his crotch.

"Bitch," he gasped, fighting for air. His face turned completely white before transitioning into an ashy gray color.

"Don't you _ever_ touch me again," I snapped. "Next time it won't be my knee, and you won't have to worry about being unable to get it up after I'm done with you."

I turned to walk away, and Ambrose started laughing in a wheezing, whining way. It was one of the most terrifying sounds I'd ever heard.

"And you don't think it's you, Lizzy? You don't think you're the right one? You and me, we're destined, sweetheart." He started yelling. "We are going to bring the universe to its knees. Just you wait and see."


	6. Chapter 6

I woke up bleary-eyed for my meeting with Heyman on Thursday and shuffled through getting ready.

I hadn't been sleeping well the last few nights. Even at home in my own bed, I couldn't relax. I had the crawling, disgusting feeling of being watched.

Ambrose didn't contact me, but I knew he was still out there somewhere, waiting.

I found myself turning everything over and over again in my head. Paul had said it was all an act. Ambrose had then told me part of it was an act. He was now behaving like almost none of it had been an act. I knew with certainty that the sweeter things he'd done had been false as he claimed they were – but the thought that scared me was that the rest of it seemed to be him.

The cigarette burn, the belt, the biting, the sex broadcast, the co-ed – what if that had all been how he would normally act in this situation? What else was coming for me?

I found myself puzzled even as to what the situation actually was. I'd been relieved to know that Ambrose had played me, but if that was the case…why hadn't the behavior stopped? Why was he still saying the same things to me?

I found myself hoping that Heyman was still trying to fuck me over in some way. That would fit. It would be packaged up neatly and make sense, and that meant that Ambrose would eventually stop whenever Heyman got what he wanted.

The unfortunate truth staring me in the face was that Heyman already _had_ what he wanted. I'd agreed to his plan, and he would have complete control over Raw and Smackdown. He would be the face of the WWE, for better or worse. I tried to think of what else he could possibly want from me, and came up short.

Eventually, yawning copiously, I made my way to Heyman's hotel. He'd done me the favor of flying in to Stamford – thanks to WWE Corporate being located here, it would look a lot less suspicious than if I had gone to his home in Florida. Although the one good thing Ambrose's intrusion on to Smackdown had done was give us a reason to be seen discussing business. Silver lining.

I stepped into the hotel and made my way to the restaurant we'd agreed to meet in. Walking in, I was surprised to see that Heyman wasn't alone. His champion, CM Punk, was sitting at the table beside him, morosely picking at a plate of fruit.

Oh joy.

I mustered a smile and made my way over to them, greeting each man politely before sitting.

"You look a little tired, Liz," Heyman said. "Coffee?"

I accepted gratefully and tried to find a way to look more alert.

"Thank you for making the trip up," I said after a few sips. "I very much appreciate you taking the time."

This polite conversational do-si-do would last a few minutes, Punk staring back and forth between us with an unreadable expression on his face.

Finally, Paul outlined his plan. It was truly simple, and a thing of beauty. When the time came for the new draft, we would simply announce that we had mutually ended the brand split. All superstars would be on both Raw and Smackdown, and I would be announced as Heyman's assistant. What that would entail was running the show if he were unable – out of town, travel issues, that sort of thing – and also assisting with the minutiae of running both shows – assigning refs and time slots, mostly.

I listened carefully to hear where he would be fucking me over. If it was there, it didn't reach my ears.

He slid the contract across the table to me. I read it as quickly and as thoroughly as I was able before signing it. We shook hands.

"Now," I said, clasping my hands together on the table, "we need to discuss Mr. Ambrose."

Heyman nodded. "I spoke with him the night you called. Suspended for two weeks, no pay."

"He told me that night when he showed up to my hotel," I told him, a tight-lipped smile on my face.

Paul's brow furrowed and he shook his head. "Liz, I can assure you – I have no idea what he's thinking."

"That's what concerns me. You told me it was all an act. Ambrose said only part of it was. His actions…they're saying something different entirely. And I really don't like what they have to tell me." I paused and finally brought it up. "If there's something else that you're trying to get out of me through Ambrose, just tell me directly. We can work something out – but I don't want anything to do with him. If it comes to pass that you are involved, I will make your life a misery."

"He's not," Punk spoke up, his voice agitated. "Do you really think a man like Dean Ambrose is just a good little foot soldier? I've known Dean for a long time. He was the King of the Deathmatch before he got here. He's sick – he'd get beaten with glass, chairs, barbed wire, anything. I once saw him have a jigsaw used on his forehead, and all he did was smile around his screams. He probably liked how you treated him on some fucked-up level and wants to keep your…affections."

I raised my eyebrows, momentarily stunned into silence. "So what would you suggest I do?" I asked Punk.

He shook his head. "I don't think there's anything you can do. He sees something he likes in you, and he feels like he needs to have you. He's not going to stop. You can't dissuade him; you can't discourage him. He's going to get what he wants."


	7. Chapter 7

I left that meeting feeling more defeated than I had in a long time.

A lot of good had happened there – the deal was done; I'd gotten the answers that I'd needed – but I'd also heard a lot of truth that I wasn't ready for.

I called Seth, knowing that Ambrose was home in Cincinnati and we could speak frankly.

I told him that the contract had been signed, and he was happy to be able to work with me instead of against me for a change. Then, without any prompting, he took the conversation to where it ultimately needed to go.

"I'm sorry about everything with Dean. You understand why Roman and I went along with it?"

"I do."

"We both still think you're pretty cool. That was an unexpected bonus from the whole thing. I hope that we can all be friends. Truthfully…we like hanging out with you more than we like hanging out with him."

I managed a small smile. "Why is that, Seth?"

"The guy's insane. He's a guy you want to have your back, but he's not exactly great friend material."

I hesitated a few moments. "Listen, did he ever..." I paused, unsure how to phrase exactly what I wanted to know. I elected to start over. "He told me that most of what he did was an act, designed to just throw me off kilter and make it easy for this deal with Paul to happen. But the deal's done, and he's still acting the same way. Do you have any ideas on why that is?"

It was Seth's turn to be quiet for a few moments. "I know that he developed some respect for you, almost against his will," he said slowly, obviously measuring his words with quite a bit of thought. "He talked about how tough you were. He also really enjoyed having…having sex with you."

I closed my eyes. Locker room talk lived. Maybe that explained why Sheamus was so determined.

"You know what," Seth rushed on, wanting to skate right past that tidbit. I didn't blame him. "He mentioned too that you were one of the first people that he told the truth about his life, and that it didn't faze you. You didn't look down on him for his roots. That really seemed to mean something to him."

I shook my head. "None of this is adding up," I sighed. "I just don't get it."

"I can try to find out, but Dean's a pretty solitary guy. I think he'd know that it was really you asking."

"Don't worry about it," I replied, shaking my head. "I don't want to drag you into this mess any more than I already have. I was just hoping you'd have some insight that I didn't."

"I'm really sorry I can't help more," he said, and I could hear the frustration creeping into his voice. "I just don't understand the guy at all."

I managed to laugh. "I don't think he even understands himself, so don't beat yourself up about it."

The conversation moved on to other things, and I hung up with a small smile on my face. At the very least, I'd managed to make a few friends out of the ordeal.

I went about my day with a little more comfort than I had during the last few. If Ambrose was watching me, at least I knew now that it wasn't because there was another conspiracy afoot. It was just Ambrose being the nutcase that we knew he was.

For some reason, I could tolerate that a bit more. One set of eyes on me with malicious intent seemed more bearable than several sets plotting my demise.

The knock on my door at seven that evening jarred me out of my happy little routine. I peered out through the peephole and saw only blackness – someone was covering the opening with their hand. Cautiously, I cracked the door open.

There on my front step stood Dean Ambrose, flowers and a bottle of wine in-hand.


	8. Chapter 8

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" I asked.

"Just coming to see my girl," he replied, jamming his foot in the door and forcing his way in.

"You're supposed to be home."

"I told you once, Elizabeth, that you were the only home I've ever known. Where else did you expect me to go?"

"Stop. Just stop. That was all an act, Ambrose. That was not true to life."

"The best performances always have a hint of truth in them, my love." He bent and tried to kiss me, but I angrily shoved him away.

"Get out. I don't want you here."

"But look!" He said, gesturing towards the table where he'd set down his gifts. "I'm trying so hard for you. Can't you at least give me a chance?"

"Are those flowers dead?"

"Accompanied by the finest wine I could find at the gas station two blocks away," he said proudly. "It'll probably taste like vinegar, but it should get you drunk enough."

I raised my eyebrows. "Drunk enough to fuck you?"

"If you're so inclined," he said, bending to try and kiss me again. I turned my head away, placing my hands on his chest to shove him away once more.

In a small way, I was relieved. This was just another feeble attempt to get me into bed with him.

"Are you sure your equipment still works?" I asked snidely.

He laughed. "Why don't we try to find out? Maybe you could kiss where you put that boo-boo and we'll see. Then maybe suck. Then maybe a little bit of biting – but not much, Lizzy, you don't have free reign there. And then I'll bend you over and fuck the ever-loving hell out of you for being a cunt and doing that in the first place."

His hand wound in my hair and wrenched my head back. "Don't think," he said, his voice low and dangerous, "that I've forgiven that little indiscretion of yours." Holding my head in place, he bent and kissed me roughly, his free hand grasping my breast tightly.

"Why don't you just beat my ass with your belt again?" I snapped.

The smile that lit his face was truly terrifying. "You know, that might not be a bad idea. Is that what you want, Lizzy? Did you like that?"

His mouth was pressed on mine before I could reply, his lips hard and angry. Well shit. I'd gotten myself into it now.

"See, we had that nice little chat after I did it the first time. I couldn't tell if you were wet because I was playing with your tits, telling you about my adventures that night, or because I'd given you that light little spanking," he murmured next to my ear. "I'm glad to know that it was the spanking that did it for you, because it does it for me." He grabbed my hand and put it on his crotch, where I could feel that he was already hard. "Oh God, does it _ever_ do it for me."

He started shoving me back towards the bedroom. I tried to stand still, to become dead weight – but he was much bigger than I, and simply picked me up.

"I'll start screaming," I warned him.

"Thanks for telling me," he murmured, depositing me on the bed. He quickly yanked one of the cases off of my pillow and, before I could think to protest, shoved it in my mouth and tied it around my head to secure it.

I tried to shove him away, and he punched me in the head.

I fell over, dazed. I was seeing stars swim in my field of vision. When my head cleared up, he'd taken most of my clothing off.

He bent and sucked on both of my nipples while he pulled my panties off. I felt him lightly brush his fingers against my clit, his fingers lingering for only a moment before he decided to focus elsewhere.

My sheet became makeshift handcuffs, Ambrose securing my hands together before flipping me on to my stomach and securing both of them to the headboard.

I tried to kick back at him, but he caught my feet and wrenched my legs painfully. "Are you going to do that again?" He asked sternly.

I shook my head – I didn't think I could do that again if I wanted to.

I heard the faint whispers of his belt coming unhooked, and after a few moments hell was unleashed.


	9. Chapter 9

I could feel myself bleeding after the first two strikes. He wasn't holding the belt buckle this time, letting the metal slap hard against my skin.

I couldn't help myself. I screamed into the pillowcase in agony, hot tears falling down my cheeks.

He furiously hit me over and over again, until I finally went numb. I knew I would pass out in a few moments when suddenly, amazingly, he stopped.

I could hear his breathing interspersed with soft moans and prepared myself to feel his dick sliding inside of me.

Instead, I heard a thump on the floor and his gasping get louder. "Oh God," he moaned, and I felt his sweaty head rest against my leg.

I waited at least five minutes before he started moving again, slowly.

"Christ," he muttered, wrestling himself to his feet. He left the room and made his way to the bathroom, where I heard water running.

After a few minutes, he came back in. As he went to untie my wrists, I noted that he was now only wearing boxers – and that a wet stain had spread across the front of them.

There was at least one indignity I'd been spared.

"Are you going to yell?" He asked, his voice sounding tired.

I shook my head, and he unfastened the knots holding that wretched fabric in my mouth. I took deep gulps of sweet fresh air.

"Do you want me to put something on your cuts?" He asked.

"No," I replied, feeling tears run down my cheeks, "I want you to get out."

"Lizzy," he said gently, running his hand down my back. I flinched away when he reached the spot where he'd been hitting. "I can't leave here without pants, and mine are in no state to be worn right now. I'm going to stay with you and wash my clothes. Then I can leave in the morning. I'm incredibly calm right now, and I'm trying to be considerate. Don't fuck this up and make me really hurt you."

I closed my eyes, willing this nightmare to end. Unfortunately, I knew that it wouldn't.

"Yes, please," I said in a whisper, my voice hollow.

He planted a kiss on the back of my head, and after a few seconds I heard him rummaging in the bathroom. He came back and began very gently tending to my wounds. I was afraid to see what a mess he'd made – I knew there were a few cuts from the buckle, and I was sure I'd have bruises and welts all up my back.

He finished up, adding an antiseptic stinging sensation in with the burning from the belt. He asked, and I directed him to my washer and dryer.

I remained on my stomach, still feeling tears spilling onto my cheeks and the pillow beneath them. I wanted to try to process this event, but found that I couldn't even believe it was real.

Ambrose came back, hitting the lights and flopping into the bed beside me. "Thank you," he whispered, tacking a substantial yawn onto the end. Without another word, he pushed me onto my side and wrapped his arm around me tightly, nuzzling my neck with his nose.

He was asleep in a matter of minutes.


	10. Sequel

Thank you for all you do to show me you're enjoying this series! The next part is up and can be found under the title "And Eventually You'll Come to Me, I Know You Will." I hope you enjoy!


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